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And Cynthe was well satisfied that it was so. Here, under the Gaunt Rocks, she would not have to share him with any one. And she would not have to hear people pointing out the grave to each other and to see them staring.
She wanted to run forward and throw herself at the feet of the other girl as she came staggering down from the stand and implore her pardon. She wanted to cry out to her that she must tell! That no man, alive or dead, was worth all this! For Cynthe Cardinal knew that truth bitterly. Instead, she turned and ran like a frightened, wild thing out of the room and up the street.
"At times he said to me, 'Cynthe, I will kill this man one day, and that will be the end of all. But I said, 'Non, non, mon Rafe, we will marry in the fall, and go away to far Beaupre where he will never see you again, and we will not know that he ever lived." Cynthe had forgotten her audience. She was telling over to herself the tragedy of her little life and her great love.
The grass and the little flowers took courage out of their very craving for life and pushed resolutely forth. And, lo! The miracle was accomplished! The world was born again! Cynthe Cardinal was coming up Beaver Run on her way back to French Village.
When Cynthe Cardinal saw Ruth Lansing go up into the witness stand she sank down quietly into a front seat and seemed fairly to devour the other girl with the steady gaze of her fierce black eyes. She hung upon every fleeting wave of the contending emotions that showed themselves on Ruth's face.
But the effect of it was exactly the opposite to that which he had intended, for, whereas they had up to now held a fairly clear view of the things that had been proven by the adroit handling of his facts by the District Attorney, they now forgot all that structure of guilt which he so laboriously built up and remembered only one thing clearly. And that thing was the story of Cynthe Cardinal.
Dardis, to forestall objections and to ensure Cynthe against interruptions from the prosecutor or the Judge, had told her to say nothing about fire but to speak directly about the killing of Rogers and nothing else.
It was a delusion, yes. But Rafe Gadbeau believed it! Cynthe believed it! And Cynthe was no fool. Ruth believed it! It was a delusion, yes. But What a delusion! What a magnificent, soul-stirring delusion!
Here was a woman, a sister woman, who could suffer, who for the sake of one greater thing could trample her love under foot, and who could and did sum it all up in one steady word "Nothing." Cynthe Cardinal revolted. Her quickened heart could not look at the torture of the other girl.
Once Cynthe Cardinal had been very near to hating this girl, for she had seen Rafe Gadbeau leave herself at a dance, one afternoon a very long time ago, and spend the greater part of the afternoon talking gaily to Ruth Lansing. Now Rafe Gadbeau was gone. There was nothing left of him whom Cynthe Cardinal had loved but a memory.
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